


all those things I didn't say

by morganoconner



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Future Fic, Gen, Healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 08:25:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4297611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganoconner/pseuds/morganoconner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is forty-two years old the next time he meets God.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all those things I didn't say

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quickreaver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quickreaver/gifts).



> For quickreaver, who came onto my LJ-versary celebration post and tricked me into writing her something MUCH LONGER than the comment ficlet I original planned, with the prompt: _"Please, don't leave."_
> 
> Please note, I know very little about the past year and a half of Supernatural canon. As such, there may be some small inconsistencies, which I apologize for. This has been proofread, but remains unbeta'd, so I also apologize for any glaring errors I may have missed.
> 
> Detailed warning at the end for those who don't mind being spoiled.
> 
> I'm really very sorry for this. /o\ Quickreaver, I do very much hope you enjoy it, and happy birthday, bb! ♥

Sam is forty-two years old the next time he meets God.

The _next time_ , because he's already met God a few times now, and he doesn't like to think about it. Tries really hard not to think about how bad things got before the big man finally had to step in and initiate a reset just to stop the universe from imploding on itself after Dean killed Death.

Meeting God is always funny in a surreal sort of way, because he appears in dreams, and it's not until after Sam wakes up that he has any idea there was ever anything strange about the meeting. Which is probably why he sighs tiredly and says, "What do you want?" instead of showing any kind of proper respect.

( _Respect_. Right.)

God gazes at him sadly. "Sam. It's been ten years. You were meant to have a life of your own, meant to be happy."

The reality is that Sam was meant to _forget_ , but apparently, not even God could purge Dean entirely from the world, not while his soulmate was still alive and well. Sam's memories are all he has left. No one else in the world would mourn Dean Winchester, would even remember he existed, but Sam would. Sam has. "I'm sorry to mess up your plans," he offers with a shrug.

"Sam." It's God who sighs this time, in a long-suffering sort of way. "You must let him go."

"No." He says it simply, a calm statement of fact.

"He would not –"

"It doesn't matter." Sam knows Dean wouldn't want this for him, what his life has become. But Dean isn't here. Dean agreed to be _expunged_ , knowing it was the only way to make things right, even knowing what it would do to his brother. He agreed, and then it was done.

No muss, no fuss.

Maybe, if Sam had only had time to talk to him, to say goodbye, to get some _closure_ –

"Would that help?" God asks him curiously, watching Sam with too-knowing eyes that appear to be every shape and every size and every color all at once. He watches for a very long moment, and then he nods, seemingly to himself.

And Sam wakes up.

*

The first thing he's aware of is a warm weight against his back, and that's absolutely strange enough to warrant Sam reaching for the knife under his pillow, right up until he hears a rough, familiar voice murmur, "It's okay, Sammy. It's me."

Sam goes hot and then cold and then numb, and if Dean says anything else, the ringing in Sam's ears does a good job of blocking it out. He doesn't turn around, can't, _won't_ , because the terror that this is nothing more than a dream ( _another_ dream) is making it hard to breathe. "You're not real," he whispers.

Dean snorts. "Yeah, well, real enough to be freaking _starving_ , anyway. How bout you grab us some grub, and then we can talk? You don't even have to look at me yet, if you don't wanna." His voice softens. "I get it."

Sam nods, and keeps his eyes firmly shut as he swings his legs out of bed. He dresses by rote, jeans and a flannel shirt and a jacket because it's November and cold on this part of the east coast. He grabs his wallet and keys and takes off out the door without another word.

"I don't know what game you think you're playing," he says under his breath to God as he drives, "but it's not funny."

Predictably, there is no answer.

Sam swings in to the nearest diner, orders enough food to feed five people instead of two, and at the very last moment, adds on a slice of apple pie, swallowing hard around the golf ball that seems to have lodged in his throat.

He's not any more prepared to face Dean when he returns to the motel than he was when he left, but there's no escaping it, because Dean opens the door before Sam can slide the key in, and he's grinning and pulling the food out of Sam's hands even while Sam continues to stand frozen in the doorway. 

"Dude, you are _awesome_ ," Dean says, plopping all of the food onto the bed and digging in with gusto. Through a big mouthful of breakfast burrito, he adds, "I've missed food so much, oh my god."

Sam blinks, finally bumped out of his stupor. "You've…what?" he manages to say, finally closing the door and making his way slowly over to the bed. He takes a seat carefully on the very corner, far enough from Dean not to touch him accidentally. Doesn't even look at the food, because how is he supposed to eat right now?

"Yeah, no food where I am," Dean says around a swallow. "It sucks, dude, you have no idea. S'not like I'm hungry, but I mean, _food_ , am I right?" So saying, he takes another giant bite. Then his eyes land on the apple pie, and he actually gives a delighted moan.

"Right," Sam says faintly. He thinks he should be doing something. Moving closer, talking about the last ten years, throwing his arms around his brother and _never letting go_ , but he feels like he's been cut off from his body and he's floating somewhere above, watching this strange scene unfold outside of himself.

Dean eats happily for a good twenty minutes, and shrugs when Sam manages to shake his head at an offered muffin. When he finally seems satisfied, he shifts himself up to the top of the bed and leans back against the pillows with a sigh, patting his stomach. "Damn, that hit the spot. Thanks, Sammy."

"How long?" It's the first real thing Sam finds himself able to say, and it comes out as mangled and broken as a train wreck.

Dean doesn't even pretend to misunderstand. His eyes – greener, somehow, than Sam's memory had them – are too soft, and Sam knows even before he speaks that he's going to hate the answer. "Just today. Any longer, and the balance would be all fucked to hell again, and bad shit would probably happen, and I know that was basically our gig, but you have to admit that the peace and the lack of monsters has been nice."

Sam hasn't noticed much of a difference, to be honest. He still roams as much as he ever did, it's just that the things he hunts now are all human, even if they're generally more monster than any of the creatures he used to face.

He doesn't say any of that, though, because in principle, he agrees with Dean. Except for the part where it means Dean is gone.

"I miss you," is what Sam says instead, though he doesn't mean to. He turns away, and his hair falls into his eyes, but of course that doesn't stop Dean from seeing more than Sam wants him to.

"Aww, Sam…" And then Dean is right next to him, crowding in close enough to wrap an arm around Sam and tug him close.

Sam goes willingly, his touch-starved body craving this contact that he knows will be over far too soon. "I thought…" He takes a breath and tries uselessly to will back the tears he can already feel swimming in his eyes. "You were supposed to be…" There's no way he can finish the thought, but Dean does it for him.

"I was, but when it came down to my finale, the big guy was having trouble getting it up." Under his breath, he snickers a little, and Sam's eyeroll is so automatic that for half a moment, it's like the last ten years never happened. Until Dean continues, "I guess when your soul is connected to somebody else, everything is ten times harder? Like, He couldn't do what He needed to do without screwing you up, too, and nobody including Him wanted that. So before the Big Forgetting, or whatever, Cas suggested that maybe I didn't have to be wiped completely off the map…maybe I could just be isolated, on all dimensions. So…I never existed, but I'm not gone, either." He snorts. "Talk about a mindfuck."

Sam doesn't understand, and frankly he doesn't want to.

"Basically," Dean says, "I live in a little tiny slice of Heaven that nobody knows about and exists in all and also no realities, and I mostly spend my time-that-isn't-actually-time watching you."

"What?" Sam asks, startled. He pulls away to stare at Dean, who huffs and rubs the tear tracks off of Sam's face with the sleeve of his jacket. Sam has a moment of profound disconnect, suddenly feeling like he's five years old again and listening to Dean promise that _everything will be okay, Sammy, Dad'll be back soon_.

"Gotta keep an eye on my little brother and make sure he's not getting' into too much trouble, don't I?" One corner of Dean's mouth quirks up.

Except everything's not okay, and Dad won't be back soon, and once he's gone again, neither will Dean.

Sam drags in a slow breath, closing his eyes and finding his center, one of the sanity-saving meditation techniques he learned years ago. It helps, but only a little. Still, he manages to look at Dean again and not crack right down the middle, so he'll count it as a win. He doesn't say, _That's not fair_ , and he doesn't say, _We're supposed to watch out for each other_. Instead, he puts on the best smile he can manage (which is too wobbly to be very good) and says, "I guess so," because it's all he can give Dean. That, and, "So, uh. What do you want to do with your one day, then?"

Half of him expects Dean to give that cocky smirk and fuck off to the nearest bar, so when Dean shrugs and says, "Kinda just want to hang out here," Sam can admit he's a little surprised. Only a little, though. "You can catch me up on the best movies of the decade, whaddya say?"

This time, Sam's smile, if still too small, at least feels real. "Yeah. We can do that."

*

They talk, of course, but mostly just about inconsequential things. Dean doesn't ask about Sam's vigilante lifestyle, and Sam doesn't ask about Dean's slice of there-but-not-really-there Heaven. Neither of them brings up angels or demons or the apocalypse or Cain or Death or death in general. There's no mention of romantic entanglements, past or present.

Sam shows Dean the best of the new Star Wars movies, and talks through the main plot points of the other two. He shows Dean the new Die Hard movie, because Dean scoffs at sequels but secretly loves them. He shows Dean the animated movie about the girl who fights monsters and single-handedly saves both her mom and the world, and pretends not to see the tears in Dean's eyes at the end.

They eat lunch from the Chinese restaurant two blocks over, and get pizza delivery for dinner. In between, there's a lot of candy and chip snacks from the vending machine. Sam doesn't make a single comment about how unhealthy a day it is all around, because Dean gets practically orgasmic around greasy food and apparently even being blinked out of the universe can't change some things.

Sam has no idea what time it is, only that it's been dark for a while, when Dean sighs and turns the latest movie off mid-scene. "Sam," he says.

Sam, who's been spending all day trying to forget this moment is coming, shakes his head. "No."

Dean seems to try for a smile, but it comes out more like a grimace. "No, not just yet. But soon. And I got some things I need to say to you first."

 _No,_ Sam thinks, desperately. But this was the point, wasn't it? _If I had time to say goodbye, get some closure…_ That's why God gave them this, isn't it? One day.

One day to say goodbye.

"You're doing good work down here, kid, and I respect that," Dean tells him. "You're saving people, and you've always been damn good at that, no matter what you think. And if you wanna keep right on doing what you're doing, I respect that too. But don't do it just because you think it's what I would've wanted, okay? You tried that when Dad died, and I hated it then, too." He puts a hand on Sam's shoulder, and Sam manages to drag his eyes up to meet Dean's. "The only thing I want is for you to be happy. Whatever it takes for that to happen is cool. Whether it's an apple-pie life with a picket fence and two kids and a dog, or whether it's tracking down bad guys for the rest of your life. But find that happiness again, Sammy."

Sam swallows hard, then nods, even though it's the last thing he wants to do.

"Seriously," Dean stresses, eyeing him. "I _am_ watching, and I _will_ know if you dick around on my dying wish, got it?" He shakes Sam a little. "Stop holding yourself back. It won't bring me back, and it really pisses me off."

Sam chokes out a laugh, ducking his head because he's going to lose it any second now. Dean shifts, and his forehead touches Sam's, his hand moving to the back of Sam's neck and squeezing gently.

"Please don't leave…" Sam tries too late to stop the words from spilling from his mouth, but he forcefully cuts himself off anyway. Dean has no more choice in leaving than Sam has in letting him go.

"You're a part of me, Sammy. I won't be _here_ , but I'm still waiting for you. A good long time from now, I'm going to see you again, okay? I promise."

Sam can't answer through the choked sobs, but he throws his arms around Dean, clinging to him even as his tears soak through the shoulder of Dean's shirt.

"I love you, Sammy," Dean tells him, holding on just as tight. "No matter what. Don't you ever forget that."

"I won't," Sam promises, but he's already speaking to empty air. "I won't."

"I love you too," he whispers.

He doesn't think he'll be able to sleep, but he does, between one sob and the next, buried in a pillow that should smell like Dean but doesn't.

In the morning, he wakes to bright sunlight and a lighter feeling in his chest than he's had in ten years.

Maybe, he thinks for the first time, he'll be okay. Maybe he can be okay. He's not sure about happy, not yet, but he thinks he might be able to try.

For Dean, yes. But maybe for himself, too.

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: Death-fic, but not your usual death-fic because Dean has already been gone for years when the story opens. And then he comes back for a day so Sam can say goodbye. Uh. Yeah.
> 
> Title comes from the lyrics of Rachel Platten's _Fight Song_.


End file.
